


for angels to fly

by mrspotatohead



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Crying, Death, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, Drugs, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eyewitness (US TV) - Freeform, Friendship, Gay, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Intoxication, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Murder, One Shot, Overdosing, Protectiveness, Sad, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, i was kinda high when i wrote this so lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:56:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspotatohead/pseuds/mrspotatohead
Summary: philip would do anything to see his mom again.tw for suicide attempts/drinking/drugs.





	

Philip knew only two things for sure: it was freezing cold and he was very, very drunk.

The vodka had burned on the way down at first, disgusting and bitter and unforgiving. He didn't really mind, though. At least it made him feel something, and at least it made him think of nothing. He let it scorch his throat and taint his lips, enjoying the way it made the faded pink sunset above him spin and lurch and waver, his head spinning with pure intoxication. It was numbing in the most relieving way possible. It was exactly what he needed.

He stared silently at the grave in front of him, his eyes squinted against the cool breeze that was biting harshly at his cheeks. After a minute, he squatted down next to the headstone, but lost his balance and fell backwards onto the damp, soft grass with a thud. He groaned and took another swig of his drink, too wasted to care that he'd already had more than half of the bottle. He cursed violently and then clumsily pulled himself upright, sitting cross legged so that he was facing the grave properly. He took a slow, deep breath and tried to ignore the hollow feeling of utter hopelessness that had settled in his chest ever since he'd found out that she was gone. He didn't think it would ever, ever go away.

_ANNE SHEA (1978 -2016)_

_A LOVING MOTHER, DAUGHTER AND FRIEND._

_MAY SHE REST IN PEACE._

He traced a shaking finger over the engraved words, hot tears already welling up behind his eyes, which he pointedly ignored. He glared at the epitaph, at the space between the year she was born and the year she had died. How had it all been reduced to that? One single line. A single line in which his mother had existed, in which she had burned so brightly, in which she bad been so strong and so ruthless and so alive. So mercifully alive. Something twisted in his gut, something rotten and heavy and defective. A few tears slipped down his flushed cheeks, and he sighed in defeat, in anger, in sadness.

He couldn't comprehend her passing at all, it felt wrong down to the deepest part of his bones. He didn't understand how she'd been here one minute - a beating heart, kind eyes, a rueful smile - only to be gone the next. How had they ended up like this, with her six feet under? It felt like missing a step in the dark, it felt like leaning too far back in a chair: the blind panic, the sickening anxiety, the jarring shock. The worst type of surprise.

"Mom," he muttered, his voice strained as his chest heaved with painfully suppressed sobs. He tried to think of something else to say, he tried to articulate the apology that he had planned out so carefully, but the words died in his throat, utterly failing him.

"Fuck," he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. He kept seeing her in his mind's eye, kept hearing the gentle lilt of her voice in the back of his head. Each time it was worse than the last; he could picture her so vividly it was almost like she was standing right in front of him. It didn't make sense that his imagination was the only place that she existed anymore.

"I love you," he lifted his head out of his hands as he said it, his voice shaking and his words slurred. He took another drink, trying not to retch as the gross, acidic liquid assaulted his taste buds. He felt the full weight of loss and immensity and death bearing down on his shoulders, a sorrowful presence that made his insides feel ancient and withered and decayed. He felt like he was a million years old. 

"And - And I know this is all my fault, okay?" he continued, biting the inside of his cheek. Saying it out loud made it seem more real, and the guilt was so strong that it almost hurt to breathe. He glanced around the deserted graveyard through blurred vision, taking in the sky which was beginning to dilute with a navy darkness, the stars winking into view from behind the softly hued clouds. The sun was only just visible along the edge of the horizon, and he felt a sharp kind of apprehension stab at his stomach. He knew it was almost time.

"But I'm going to fix this, I promise," he whispered, resting one hand on top of the head stone gently. He tried not to think of her laying just a few feet below him, soon to be nothing more than food for the insects that burrowed their way into her rib cage and found a new home in her vacant, decomposing flesh.  It was hard to think of her like that, a shell of what she had once been, but he supposed that was what she was. Nothing more, nothing less.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he flinched at the noise before choosing to ignore it. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.

"I'm going to see you again really soon, I promise," he told the gravestone, nodding his head in determination. He reached his hand into the other pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a bottle of pills he'd swiped from the cabinet at Helen and Gabe's. He set the vodka down and looked at the medication, at his way out of everything, barely registering the words on the label. He breathed a sigh of relief, sensing that the end was drawing ever closer. He reveled in the fact that soon, he'd be at peace.

"I know you wouldn't have wanted me to - to kill myself," he stuttered past the lump in his throat, unable to look at the grave for the first time as he flushed with white hot shame. He felt stupid, he felt completely unheard. He knew that the body beneath the ground didn't care whether he lived or died. It was indifferent, it was merely an abandoned ship. He knew it wasn't his mother, not really. She was gone, and it was all because of him.

"I have to do this, though. I can't put up with it anymore. With losing you. With the guilt of it. You can understand that, right? The pain?" he asked, and then paused dumbly as if actually waiting for an answer, but all he got in return was the howl of the wind and the chirp of the birds in a nearby tree. Ludicrously, he almost laughed at the unadulterated cruelty of it.

He leaned back in defeat, turning so he could rest against the back of the headstone. He opened the bottle of pills and poured the contents of it into the palm of his hand. They were small and white and unassuming. He marveled at them for a minute, amazed that they were powerful enough to kill him, though he knew they would be. They had to be.

He took another drink and looked at the pale, ghostly moon that had finally risen in the darkened sky. Black birds flitted around against the starry backdrop, squawking and singing, completely unaware of the scene below them. He felt a sudden deep yearning inside, jealous of their innocent ignorance. They were free in a way he would never be, not as long as he was alive.

He raised the pills to his mouth without hesitation and his mind went blank, becoming nothing more than a void filled with white noise.

And just when he thought it was all over, the air was knocked out of him as someone pulled him up by the back of his hoodie, someone with an iron grip and familiar, steely blue eyes. Lukas.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he spat, a pulse beating lividly in his porcelain forehead. Philip gaped at him, his drunken mind trying and failing to catch up with the sudden turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be slipping into unconsciousness, he was supposed to be fading away. He was supposed to be on his way to being gone, just like she was.

"Nothing," he replied stupidly, breath catching in his throat as he stumbled over his feet. Lukas snorted and shook his head disbelievingly, his jaw clenched tightly with rage.

"Don't give me that shit, what was with that text you sent me? I've been worried sick!" he all but yelled, stepping forward so that they were face to face, looming over the shorter boy in the silvery light of the moon.

"What? What text?" Philip swallowed nervously, trying to keep his words coherent even though his vision was hazy and obscure, even though he kept losing his train of thought every few seconds, even though he wanted to do nothing more than swallow the pills that were still clenched tightly in his fist, hidden from view.

"How do you not remember? You sent me a message like, two hours ago, saying that you were sorry and that you had to do something, and then you said goodbye, Philip," Lukas rushed to explain, some of his anger visibly seeping away into concern as he watched the other boy sway on his unsteady feet, his gaze unfocused.

Philip was completely quiet for a few moments before he broke out into manic, loud laughter that echoed eerily around the vast graveyard. He was so wasted, and so tired, and he felt like the whole thing was fucking ridiculous. He vaguely thought that he ought to be dead by now, and then leaned forward, looking at the fist that was still filled with pills as he continued to heave with frenzied, deranged giggles. It was a joke. He was a joke.

When he managed to look back up, Lukas was gaping at him with his brows drawn together and his mouth hanging half open, a look of barely concealed bewilderment taking over his sharp features.

"Philip," he said softly. "What is the matter with you?"

"You want a list or what?" the other boy spluttered, still chuckling weakly despite the desperation in his voice and the deadened look in his eyes. Lukas watched him closely, trying to figure him out, trying to find a way to fix the situation.

"I mean it, stop fucking around. What have you done?" He pressed, and then he lowered his gaze and caught sight of the bottle of vodka that had been concealed behind the grave. His expression cleared with understanding and he quickly looked back up at Philip, a defeated sigh escaping his lips.

"I haven't _done_ anything, unless you count killing my own fucking mother, I suppose," Philip laughed again and turned away, wishing that he'd just downed the pills when he'd had the chance. The words lingered in the air between them and Lukas froze on the spot, sucking in a breath as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. The atmosphere around them buzzed with a wild, maniacal type of energy. 

"You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying," he uttered after a minute of tense, shocked silence. He walked forward a few paces, closing the gap between the two of them. The other boy fought the urge to back away again and rolled his bloodshot eyes, finding it hard to look anywhere but down at his scuffed shoes.

"I know exactly what I'm saying," he sighed, his nose prickling as if he was about to cry. He could feel the gaze of the taller boy burning holes into his face, but he still couldn't manage to meet his eyes. It would feel too much like admitting to something, too much like telling the truth.

"You didn't fucking kill her, you understand me?" he insisted savagely, a note of warning in his tone. Philip opened his mouth to argue but Lukas just sighed resolutely and pulled him into a hug. The shorter boy froze momentarily and then surrendered tiredly to the gentle touch, enjoying the steady arms that enveloped him gently as he leaned his weight fully into the other's chest. All of the coldness inside of him began to melt away into a tender type of warmth.

He was so surprised by the sudden geniality and affection that he dropped the pills that had been clenched in his hand so that they clattered onto the grass, unashamedly announcing their presence. He felt the urge to bend down and pick them up almost immediately, but he knew it was too late for that. He knew he'd been caught.

He felt Lukas tense up and pull away from the embrace, and this time when Philip found the courage to look at him, the other boy's face was a mess of vehement torment and pain and betrayal, his eyes filled with the purest form of hurt. They both missed a beat and stared blankly at the medication that littered the ground beneath them, at a loss for words.

"What the hell are those?" he broke the unbearable silence first, stepping away from the other boy, sounding choked up. Philip stood rooted to the spot, not even feeling the cold or the grief or the misery anymore. He flushed with a searing kind of embarrassment, wanting more than anything to just disappear.

"Nothing. They're nothing. I just - " he tried to justify, to explain, to lie but Lukas cut him off almost immediately.

"You just what? Just thought you'd fucking kill yourself, is that it?" his voice was strained and venomous, but there was an unmistakable undertone of worry in it, too. It was the concern that made it so hard to hear.

"Look, you don't get it, okay?" Philip spat darkly, brows furrowed together as he ran a hand through his brown curls, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.

"I don't get it? How can you say that to me? You think I don't know what it's like to lose a parent?" Lukas retorted, looking like he'd been slapped in the face.

"I didn't mean it like that, I meant - Fuck, it's too hard to explain. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted all of this to stop," he mumbled, feeling himself sober up slightly, feeling himself fully register the reality of the situation. 

"So you _were_ going to kill yourself?" he questioned, eyes wide and round in the glow of the moonlight. He wrung his hands together nervously as he said it, momentarily glancing at the pills on the floor.

"Does it matter?" Philip deflected bitterly, expecting Lukas to shout at him some more, expecting this to be the demise of their relationship. He waited, eyes trained on a beetle scuttling across the grass. When neither one of them said anything, he cautiously looked up only to find the other boy staring at him in shock, tears streaming down his pallid cheeks. It was a million times worse than screaming and fighting and arguing. It made his stomach ache with a sordid type of regret.

"Don't do that, don't cry," Philip managed to get out, though the lump in his throat felt more prominent than ever.

"What do you want me to do? Do you even know what I'd do if you went away? How did you think I was going to survive without you?" Lukas murmured, his voice dangerous and tight, like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

"You'd have managed," he shrugged, closing his eyes momentarily to collect his thoughts. He was so exhausted.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You were going to kill yourself, Philip! And you don't even care! It would've been me left standing at your funeral, me having to deal with my shitty dad and school and everything on my own. After everything, _everything_ we've been through, I can't fucking lose you. Not you. I can't. You _know_ I can't," he choked out, and the devastation on his face was excruciating to look at. It made Philip's insides writhe with an agony he'd never felt before in his life.

Seeing his best friend like that made something deep inside of him snap. It was like every barrier he'd tried so hard to keep in place had been forcefully knocked down.

"I'm sorry, Lukas," his voice was low, but at least it was truthful.

"Just come home with me, okay? It's okay. Please. Just come back," Lukas begged quietly, his eyes darting nervously down to the pills and the vodka on the ground at their feet once more. They both knew he was asking for more than that, though. He was asking for Philip to try. He was asking for him to give life another chance. To accept the help he really needed.

He hesitated for a second, glancing back at his mother's grave with a leaden feeling in his stomach. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. 

"Okay," he sighed, feeling his shoulders drop as he took in a fresh breath. He nodded numbly, trying to let go of his trepidation, trying not to feel so scared of it all, of the future, of life without his mom, of himself.

Lukas rushed forwards, tears glinting in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Philip tightly, as if he couldn't ever bring himself to let go.

"Thank you, god, thank you," he breathed, kissing the shorter boy softly on the forehead. For the first time, as Philip closed his eyes and relaxed into the other's arms, he felt a fleeting spark of hope, and that was all he needed to turn around and walk away from the grave, his hand entwined the Lukas's.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so bad like i can't write for shit lmao but i was sad and thought of this so yea enjoy :)) i feel like they should've showed philip grieving anne more so i had to write it tbh.
> 
> kudos and reviews really help and motivate me so if you liked please let me know!! thanks guys!!


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